


The Games That Play Us

by hanwritessolo



Series: You and Me and The Bottle Makes Three [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Feels, Drinking, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: You knew from the very beginning that being with Noctis is painfully similar to trying to play a game you can never get to win.





	The Games That Play Us

_9:43 PM I miss you_ **  
**

Your text message flashes on Noctis’ phone screen, and it was enough for him to be thrown off his game of King’s Knight with Prompto.

Another message follows.

_9:43 PM I miss us_

And then another.

_9:44 PM You rly did break my fucking heart your highness :)_

For the record, you don’t really text like that. In fact, you rarely even text. And when you do, you texted in pristine sentences, punctuated to perfection.

But still, Noctis froze at these cryptic messages, all coming from your number. Despite Prompto obnoxiously jeering in the background over his shameful defeat, Noctis is lost in his own world, spacing out at the very sight of your name.

“You okay there, buddy?” Prompto taunts, waiting for Noctis to respond with a feisty retaliation.

Not a word.

“Please, let us allow His Highness to gather the remains of his ego,” Ignis chides, unable to hide his amusement.

But zero, zilch, nada.

Usually, he has a snarky comeback to counter his friends. But he’s too occupied re-reading your messages—twice, thrice, and another more for good measure—before he slowly places the phone in the table for all his friends to see.

The first to worry was Gladio, who immediately asks, “Hey, what’s going on—”

Prompto grabs his phone with avid interest; Gladio and Ignis peer over his shoulder. They all read the texts, and they find themselves gaping at Noctis in disbelief.

Noctis finally shatters the silence. “Do you guys think… she’s okay?”

Both Ignis and Prompto sigh and share a despondent look, while Gladio steps in to answer.

“Noct,” his voice is low and grim. “You broke up with her because you’re getting married. That’s a lot to take in. Of course she’s not okay.”

 

* * *

 

To be fair, Noctis broke the news of his engagement with Princess Lunafreya to you the first thing he learned of it. He ran straight to your apartment and painfully explained the arrangement in strained sparse details that you eventually pieced it together to get the whole picture. You knew Noct has a poor habit of explaining things, but you’re so well-versed in understanding his language in full context and in filling all of his blanks, like you always do.

Truth is, he never wanted any of it and he only wanted you, and you held onto this precipice of knowledge with the hopes that maybe, he can change his mind. That he’ll fight for you. Chase you. Stay for you.

But ultimately, he had to do the right thing, and the right thing was to leave you. It was difficult for Noctis and you saw how the burden tortured him the instant he shed those tears that  _you_ were supposed to be crying. In the end, you respected all of this, as you should. You understood what he needed to do. You parted ways and you let him walk out of your door with a smile on your face.

What isn’t fair, however, is the pain that came after. It was a treacherous bastard; you thought you’re okay for a full swing of a week, and it only took one small moment—it was when you found yourself stopping by your usual gaming spot, the place where he first kissed you—and the pain came in tidal waves, ravenous and raging, destroying your illusion and revealing the cracks. The pain was violent, it mercilessly throbbed and ached, and you were crying in the middle of the street before you even realized you were crying, crippled with the hollow absence that Noctis left behind.

What isn’t fair is that you didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask for promises. You didn’t ask to meet Noctis and have him turn your life around. You didn’t ask for love. But you let him in, knowing from the start that he isn’t even meant to stay.

Buried under your pillows and sheets cradling a cheap bottle of vodka, you held the jagged pieces of your broken heart as you thumb another reckless text:

_10:05 PM here take whats left of my heart and wear it like a crown :)_

_10:06 PM_ _or like an armor or a badge of honor since you look good in almost anything it hurts :)_

If you weren’t a bit tipsy, you would think this is all too petty for your tastes, passive-aggressive smileys included. But it feels  _so_ good hurling these messages onto the void; you know Noctis doesn’t know how to respond to texts. Heck, you know he rarely even reads them—he only either uses his phone for his stupid mobile games and for calling you…

Which, of course, he hasn’t done in the past few days because it’s over and you’re just the newly-minted ex of a prince, and he’s leaving tomorrow to get married, and you can already imagine him looking so dashing in a suit, smiling and waiting at the altar, and you can picture these beautiful babies that he’s going to have with Princess Luna—

A loud banging at your door drags you out of your cauldron of tormented, heartbroken hell. You close your eyes and try to channel your will to pull yourself together and get to the door. You recall you ordered for two boxes of pizza hours ago for sustenance, so you take some cash as you clumsily stumble forward, vodka bottle still in tow.

You slightly fix your hair to make yourself look at least presentable and appear sober. You open the door and oddly enough, the pizza delivery boy isn’t even carrying your much awaited pizza box.

And he’s wearing all black.

And he looks so much like Noctis…

Oh. Fuck.

“Hi.” Noctis is a little out of breath, his eyes rimmed red.

“You’re here,” you choke. Noctis stood there watching you, and there was a pregnant pause.

He’s here. Right at your doorstep.

“Do I curtsy now or do I bend the knee?”

Noctis scoffs and notices the bottle in your hand. “I see you’ve been drinking.”

“And I see you haven’t left yet.”

“You said you were fine.”

“If I said I  _wasn’t_ fine, would that make you stay?”

“I…”

“Figured just as much.” You sure didn’t pull any punches as you keep firing away your words; your mouth is a lot sharper under the influence of alcohol. “Do me one last favor, Noct. Go out there and be a king. Bring forth thy peace. Eventually, I’ll forget about you, and you’ll forget about me—”

“Stop,” his lips quiver, each word a slice through his heart.

“So go leave me alone and get married—”

“I said stop.”

“But before that, will they televise your wedding on national TV? Because I would  _hate_ to miss it for the world—”

The bottle slips from your hand as Noctis wraps you in his arms and presses you closer against his chest. His body is too familiar to you—the warmth and the sound of his heartbeat was your sanctuary—and in his arms, you’ve always felt safe that you can’t find the strength to hold back your tears.

“I can’t forget you,” his voice shakes as he squeezes you tighter, stroking your hair and drinking the scent of your skin. “And I don’t want to forget you. I  _want_ you and I want to keep  _wanting_ you.”

You clench your fists on the back of his shirt as you bawl your eyes out. “I don’t want to forget you, too.”

You both stood there enveloped in each other’s warmth, both hoping that the world would stop spinning on its axis and for time to stand still.


End file.
